Blame Game
by HarleyQuinn1998
Summary: It wasn't his fault yet they all blamed him.


He was exhausted.

Another day of being pushed around by werewolf's and another supernatural creature that decided to turn up. Another day of being ignored by his best friend in favour of a wolf who had previously had a part in attempting to destroy the pack. Another day of being ignored by his own father in favour of cases which never seemed to end anymore. Another day of sinking further into the recesses of his mind, of giving in to the overwhelming urge to leave it all behind.

No one had noticed the scent of blood that hung strongly over him. Just like no one noticed the jagged lines crisscrossing on his wrists when his sleeves rode up. Not one person who claimed to care for him had taken notice of the bags becoming bigger under his eyes and the way even his tightest clothes seemed to hang off his hunger pang frame.

It was the same every day.

He was only useful for planning and to be a punching bag, then he was kicked to the kerb. He never used to care; it was just how everyone was.

Now he wasn't so sure, they seemed to go out of their way to not include him in things, to ignore his opinion even when it could've saved people.

They were all too wrapped up in their own petty problems to realise the bigger picture. Innocent people were being killed everyday sometimes it was even their fault.

It had all been the same after the nogitsune.

The fake apologies for not helping his sooner began immediately, along with the placating. Everyone bombarding him with the same words, its not your fault and of course we don't blame you and his favourite this doesn't change how we feel about you. He had tried to believe them he had tried so hard to ignore the way they flinched when he moved too quickly or the way everyone including Scott avoided being left alone with him, finding increasingly elaborate excuses to stop inviting him to pack meetings.

Even his own father began taking on a bigger case load than what he could handle, anything to keep him out of the house where his murderous son was. People stopped distinguishing between nogitsune Stiles and normal Stiles. All anyone could see was the faces of everyone he had hurt and no matter how much anyone claimed to care for him he had taken someone important from all of them and they couldn't forgive that.

It wasn't like he didn't understand that, the thought of Scott and Chris after Allison's funeral haunted his nightmares and she haunted him throughout the day. The hallucination he had created in a bid for forgiveness after an entire day of sobbing at her grave had only made the guilt bury itself deeper into him. He could feel her follow him around as he dragged himself through the corridors in school trying to remain normal, the feeling of her eyes staring at him as he sat in lessons made his skin crawl and his breathing quicken but he knew he deserved it.

The only person who hadn't completely shunned him was Jackson, the older boy coming back from England for the funeral and announcing he was back for good. Everyone had expected him to jump back into Lydia's bed and comfort her, the shock was felt by everyone when he sat next to Stiles who had sat at the back alone to avoid causing any more pain.

The werewolf had quickly attached himself to the broken boys side and tried to help him, he understood exactly what he was going through, the same feelings of hatred had ran through his head after the kanima incident and only getting away had helped him. Yet he understood that wasn't an option for Stiles, while his father was doing everything in his power to avoid his only son he had placed more restrictions on the boy in the hopes it would keep him in line. As if not letting him leave the house beforehand would've stopped the creature from invading him.

However it was only a few weeks before Jackson was sucked back into pack drama, only a few weeks before he had to join everyone in saving Beacon Hills and he didn't have time to monitor if Stiles was actually eating or to stop him from dragging blades across his skin overtime the ghosts suffocating him got too much.

Even quicker than that the pack were back to letting their stupid teenage drama get in the way of working together, sometimes even turning on each other. Letting their grief drag them down stopping them from doing the little that they could to keep the innocent in the town safe.

It infuriated Stiles, the fact so many innocents lives rested on the backs of a group of teenagers yet no one even knew about it. Not even the adults who knew where trying to watch them, none of them noticed the destructive paths they seemed to be on.

Just like no one noticed when the blades started to cut deeper each time. The first time he pushed down more was an accident, the day had been long he had Allison and Aiden with him taunting him with words that seemed to cut into what was left of his soul. On top of his usual crappy day lacrosse had started back up again with coach being out of hospital meaning he had to suffer through it.

He normally wouldn't have minded except that meant spending time with the pack which he was attempting to avoid at all costs, it was as painful as he had guessed with snide remarks from Isaac and Scott throwing him the lost puppy look overtime he got next to them. He hadn't thought he could feel any worse about what had happened but being around them allowed him to.

Yet they still didn't notice, either they didn't care and were purposefully ignoring him or they were that wrapped up in his own grief they genuinely didn't notice.

Until he cut too deep.

People said he didn't mean to, he mustn't have realised how deep he went, it was an accident, that he wouldn't purposely abandon the people who loved him so much.

They all said he had so much to live for, so many people he could've turned to for help but he was too afraid, they all said how good a person he was.

Those were the same words circulating his funeral, every conversation had some variation of them. Some apology for the poor boy who's mother had died too soon and who's father had tried his best. People huddled round the tried stricken Sheriff who clutched Melissa's hand as if it was his only lifeline. She seemed to be holding it together much more than the man who had supported her through everything and her son who was surrounded by his pack all looking as equally shocked by the new development as him.

Not one person sitting before the young boys casket could find a bad word to say, they were all convinced he was a saint. Though even if anyone thought differently it wasn't nice to speak ill of the dead, especially of young boys who were only 17 when they sliced open their own wrists.

No one mentioned the fact he was alone, really. No one mentioned how they had ignored his late night calls, or the plans to hang out. Even when they were together he was the outcast and people refused the responsibility of the fact they drove him to this. No one wanted to admit they may have been responsible for the death of a boy who had the world at the tip of his fingertips.

So they blamed him. Blamed him for making one mistake which stole his entire future.

But there was one; one who had seen untapped potential in the boy at the start. Had offered him a gift which would've made sure he wasn't pushed out and even if he was he would've been strong enough to handle it. He had always seen the fire lighting up the eye of the teen, he'd wanted that kind of spark on his side seeing how useful an asset he could be. After his power was gone he'd relied on his nephew to notice and snatch him up but like every other time he relied on family he had been left down.

What a waste.


End file.
